Polaroid
by coxcomb
Summary: Russia likes to take photographs of the other countries once he is 'finished' with them and is missing just one photo in his album. Russia/America


A/N: So I was bored one night and was talking to my beta. I asked her for something to write... she said Russia and America. I asked her about setting and she said a harem... I don't need to say this, but it's nothing like that and it just ended up being creepy Russia and...America. I again, tried to give it a plot but... I failed. Also, there is no historical accuracy (concerning the mentions of countries) and I've used the names of countries instead of their 'real' names. And I didn't run this by anyone so the mistakes are my own stupid 't own Hetalia, blah blah.

* * *

Russia could only let out a small sigh as he ran his finger down the empty page in his photo album.

He was missing one country.

Just one.

The one he had yet to become one with. The one he had yet to dominate. The one he had yet to join with in the most intimate way.

Flicking to the front of the album, he glanced at each page as he turned it. He had failed to put them in chronological order. After all, he didn't intentionally mean to make each country his bitch. Quite the opposite. He tried to be nice to the countries; make friends with them but they were always so reluctant. They weren't so reluctant to try his vodka though...and he found no problem slipping a small, tiny drug into the alcohol as to make them more...accepting of their new fate.

Which was to become one with Russia.

He did enjoy the part where they came together in perfect harmony. Yes, that was perhaps his favourite part. The moment when their bodies joined; connected. Their cries; his moans. It was satisfying but perhaps not as satisfying as taking a polaroid of them after he had finished.

After he had come all over their face. After they had come all over their own body. After they were covered in various fluids.

The polaroid was not only a memento, but also a helpful reminder to all those concerned that they should do exactly as Russia wants.

He smiled to himself as he gazed at his photo of Germany, tied up and gagged. That had been the hardest one to get in all senses. Germany had resisted the drug somehow and he had been difficult to restrain, after all, Germany was a big guy. But in the end, he had been subdued but the picture? Germany wouldn't stop moving. The fact he was able to see his own hand in the photo was disappointing but it was better than nothing.

He hummed to himself as he turned the page to reveal one of his more fond memories. The Italian brothers had been only too willing to become one with him. They had been very enthusiastic. He was impressed by the way they had both pleased him at the same time. The way their tongues had mingled whilst they licked his cock had been amazing. It was titillating just to think about it.

He flicked through the pages. He had violated France with a wine bottle; burnt England with a cup of tea. Japan had been sodomised with the handle of his own Katana and he had whipped China with a bamboo cane until he had bled. He'd bought a grand piano to fuck Austria on, that was an expensive but satisfying memory. Prussia, after seeing the photo of Germany, he been only too willing to experience the man who had dominated his brother.

It had taken a long time to make his way through all the countries and although he had done so many, he was missing the one he wanted the most.

He wrote one word in black marker at the top of the page.

America.

O0o0o

"What exactly is it you needed to talk about that couldn't be discussed on the phone?" America asked, agitated by jet lag and hunger pains. He hadn't really questioned why he was needed by Russia but when Russia asked him to do something, he always felt it was best to comply.

Russia grabbed two glasses and a bottle of vodka as he made he way over to the sofa America had rudely just sat down on without being invited to although he didn't expect any less of the man. He could feel the small vial in his pocket. He didn't want to drug America. He wanted some fun...maybe some consensual fun. He would try and get the younger man to want him...

"Vodka?" He asked, placing the two glasses down on the coffee table before he pulled the lid off the bottle. He poured two servings before even waiting for a response.

"Don't suppose you have a hamburger...or a milkshake...I'd even settle for some of England's god awful cooking right now," America complained, clutching his stomach.

England. They had become one over a year ago. Aside from inflicting third degree burns on the other man, their union had been rather bland, much like his cooking.

"No. We have vodka, it's tradition," he replied blandly, taking a seat next to America and shoving the glass of alcohol into his hand. "You drink on three."

"All of it?" America blurted out, alarmed by the amount of vodka there was in the glass.

"On three," Russia repeated with a menacing look in his eyes that forced America to comply as he said "One, two...THREE!"

Russia let the vodka slide down his throat, gulping it as if it was water. America, on the other hand, sipped it all into his mouth and as he swallowed, he felt his entire body go rigid; the alcohol setting his entire body aflame as he choked.

"You're no good with alcohol, are you?" Russia commented, patting America on the back in a friendly way but he could tell that America was still as tense as ever around him. Everyone always was.

America continued coughing, hitting his own chest. He found it hard enough to drink shots of vodka but a glass of it? His eyes were streaming as he tried to catch his breath. "How do you just drink it like that?"

Russia shrugged. "I just do."

Silence lingered in the air after Russia failed to carry on the conversation. He didn't invite America over for a chit-chat. He had one aim.

He watched America continue to sip vodka. He refilled the cup every time it got low. He didn't want the other man to be wasted but he didn't want to risk getting hurt (although he doubted America could really physically hurt him). He managed to avoid America noticing his lack of drinking by simply staring at him out of the corner of his eye. He knew most nations avoided looking at him.

Russia waited and waited. It was when he saw America's body slowly start to sway on its own for no reason that he decided to slip the glass from the other man's hand.

"I have something to show you," Russia said bluntly, dragging America to his feet by the collar of his bomber jacket and pushing him forward slightly.

"No need to push me," America responded, staggering slightly as he felt the full effect of the alcohol. He wasn't sure how much he had drank. Had Russia drank as much? "Where are we going?"

Russia waved his hands dismissively, smiling menacingly. "Follow me," he said with a grin, motioning to the stairs.

"Are we going to eat? Do you have hamburgers up here?"

Before he knew it, they were stood outside a set of double doors. He gazed at Russia, whose face still held a creepy expression but it didn't seem too different from normal. He swayed slightly as he tried to gain his balance. Standing still was hard for him when he had been drinking.

"Are the hamburgers in here?" He asked, reaching forward for the door handle.

Russia grabbed his hand, spinning him around into an embrace. "I have no hamburgers for you but I do have a proposition for you."

America felt his entire body tremble with fear as Russia held him and kicked the door open, walking them both into the room. He felt the the Russian loosen his grip and he slipped out, backing into the room until the backs of his knees met a surface. He turned around to see the offending item. He was in Russia's bedroom.

"W-What would the...proposition be? I know I represent my country but...I can't make..." He found it increasingly difficult to find words as he heard the Russian approach him. He didn't want to turn around. "...D-Decisions on my own...without...consulting other-"

His sentence was cut off as a hand raked through his hair and pulled his head back. He shrieked out, trying to ignore the way Russia's nose nuzzled his neck.

Russia simply purred as he ran his tongue along America's skin, nipping it before he moved up to his ear. "Become one with me." He commanded as he forced America face down onto the bed, pressing all his weight into the smaller man.

He could feel the American struggling beneath him but he needed to show his power first. He held his face down into the blankets, waiting a few seconds before he allowed America to breath again. He could feel himself hardening as America gasped for air and futilely clawed at the blankets, trying to escape.

"What the hell are you doing?" America exclaimed, panting loudly. He tried to roll over but Russia was too heavy. His thighs were clamped around his hips and as he struggled even more, he found his arms painfully snapped back and held together behind his back.

"Become one with me," Russia repeated, leaning down and gently nuzzling the American's neck as he applied more pressure to the wrists, making the smaller man cry out. "You want to be one with me. Trust me, is a good thing."

He sat up again, not waiting for a response. Settling on America's lower back, he slipped his hands under the smaller man's shirt, feeling the soft skin. Skin that had never been exposed to the same harsh conditions his had. He reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a small dagger and hooked the blade up and under the fabric, cutting through it with ease until he met resistance at the jacket.

"If you don't run away, I'll let you sit up and you can keep this little tacky jacket in one piece," Russia muttered, rubbing the blade down America's back.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I said, I desire to become one with you." He slipped off the smaller man and stood up, once again dragging the American to his feet before roughly pushing the jacket from his shoulders. He had never liked the thing. It was crude and frumpy; offending to the eyes.

America frowned as he allowed Russia to rip his t-shirt off fully and discard the scraps. He knew it was pointless to even try to fight back right now. He felt disorientated. Russia would easily overpower him. Another chance might come up before anything might happen... He thought this to himself but as he watched Russia rip his belt open, he started to doubt himself.

"You're not even gay," America uttered. Truth be told, he didn't know enough about Russia to even speculate what his sexuality was but he was trying to buy some time, although from the breeze running across his bare legs, he could tell time wasn't on his side today.

Russia ran his hands up the small man's thighs before he pushed him back down onto the bed. "This isn't about sexual orientation."

"Then what is this about?" America asked, scooting across the bed, trying to cover himself up at the same time. He was embarrassed that Russia could see his body. He didn't have an unattractive body but he wasn't used to people seeing it. He just felt...insecure, which was a first for him.

"Invading you..." Russia said with an eerie smile, crawling across the bed. He roughly pushed America back down onto the bed, straddling his thighs.

He watched as America shuddered upon feeling his touch. His hands were cold; his entire body was cold. No matter what he did, he could never warm himself up. Not that it mattered. He no longer felt the temperature and part of him enjoyed seeing everyone suffer like he once did.

His fingers danced over the expanse of flesh. America was firmer than he had imagined. The man, despite his excessive eating, clearly worked out. His figure wasn't as impressive as say, Germany's, but it was far nicer than the slimmer figures of the Italian brothers.

"You have a very nice body," he commented, leaning down and running his tongue along his chest, stopping at his right nipple. He stared at the small nub for a while, nudging it with his tongue before he clamped down on it with his teeth, tugging it gentle. America's cries were as beautiful as he had imagined in his mind.

"Complimenting me won't..." He gasped, placing his hands on Russia's head and willing him away from his chest. At the sound of his voice, Russia looked up, willing America to continue speaking. "It won't make what you're about to do right."

"It's not right? Do you not like Russia?"

America stared at the Russian as he continued to move his way down his body. He was being strangely gentle for a man who was basically raping him. "This sort of thing isn't about liking another person," he said quietly. His mind had been foggy ever since he had landed in the foreign country and the vodka had only made it worse. He couldn't think straight. He wasn't even sure what he was talking about. The words left his mouth but even he found them ridiculous.

Isn't about liking another person? What else was sex about then? He had never slept with someone he didn't like...and the people he did sleep with he liked very much. It wasn't about love, he was certain he hadn't loved everyone he had ever fucked in his life. What was it about then? Gratification? He wasn't sure about that. Maybe Russia could fulfil his desires and vice versa...

He shook his head. This was Russia. Russia terrified him. He doubted his ability to even get aroused in such a situation.

"Ah, America is very naive," Russia commented, sliding further down the younger man's body. He could feel that he himself was hard but America? He didn't even show a hint of arousal. Everyone else, despite their drugged up state or insistence that they didn't want it, had shown a hint of desire for him.

"I think it's you who is naive. I don't know what you are trying to do but doing this won't get you anything."

Russia shook his head, gently poking America's bulge with his finger. "I don't think you quite understand. I wish to be inside America. Sexually. I want to..." He paused, looking up at the ceiling. His English was good but at times, he failed to fully explain what he meant. "I want to fuck you senseless? You know... fuck you really hard until you can't walk and then maybe fuck you again. I want you to bleed."

America paled in the face. Despite how vulgar Russia's words were, he couldn't stop his cock from twitching in his underwear. "I don't want that," he replied meekly.

"I think Southern America disagrees with your words..." Russia joked, licking his lips as he pulled the waistband down. He gently took hold of America's cock, running his hand up and down it, coaxing it to full hardness in just a few strokes. He could already tell that America was hating how his body was reacting. No matter what, they got aroused. It was natural.

"Stop this..." America panted,covering his face as Russia continued to touch him. He couldn't ignore how good it felt. Russia's hands, despite their coldness, were soft and skilled. He didn't want it to feel good. He wanted to be disgusted by the act. This was _Russia_. "Don't..." He called out as he watched the Russian dip his head and take him fully in his mouth. If the other man had a gag reflex, he wasn't displaying it.

He felt it instantly but he couldn't even cry out. Russia roughly pushed a dry finger inside him. He couldn't even comprehend the action as he felt it move in and out, caressing his insides. He knew what the other man was searching for. When he found it, which he was certain would be soon due to how nimble his movements were, he didn't want to give Russia the satisfaction of knowing he enjoyed it. He didn't want to feel pleasure from it. He didn't want Russia to know he was enjoying it...but his mouth couldn't stop a moan from escaping.

"I think you're liking this a little too much," Russian commented, letting America's erection slip out of his mouth. He didn't speak any more, instead he removed himself from America and got to his feet. He couldn't hide the smirk that graced his face as America whimpered. Whether it was from the loss of heat from his mouth or the feeling of his fingers inside him, he didn't care.

He reached down, a smirk still plastered on his face, and took hold of America's ankles. He gripped them tightly, ignoring how narrowly the other man's foot missed his face. Not wasting any more time, he viciously flipped him over, placing one hand on the American's back and ripping his underwear off with his free hand. He had always thought his height and size to be a problem growing up but in situations like this, it really do prove to be a good thing.

"Now, if you beg, I will be nicer."

America attempted to peer over his shoulder but was met by a sharp blow to the face, slamming his face back down into the mattress. "Fuck you," he spat, tasting blood in his mouth.

"It's not going to happen like that, however, if you want me to use a lubricant, then you really should beg."

Russia crawled over the American, gently running his hand through the blonde hair before he roughly tugged his head backwards.

"Beg."

America bit down on his own lip, looking up at the Russian. He was still fully dressed; his weight unbelievably heavy on his back. "...P-please... don't fuck me raw... p-please... be... gentle," he mumbled pathetically, hating every word that came from his own mouth.

Russia felt a rush as the American stammered those words; his blood now pumping furiously around his body. He was hot; overheated for once but he made no attempt to remove any of his own clothes. He never did. He always stayed fully dressed as a sign that this wasn't a lust filled action. It was about power. Although, America...America had always occupied a special place in his heart. He wasn't sure why, perhaps that was why he had waited so long to do this.

He reached into the pocket of his large overcoat, taking out a small tube. Shuffling down the younger man's body, he rested on the backs of his knees. He could feel heels kicking at his lower back. He didn't want to scald America but the repetitive banging on his body was annoying...

"Stop it." He snapped, slapping his thigh roughly. Concentrating, he threw the cap of the tube away and squirted a decent amount onto his fingers, rubbing the liquid before he ran his digits down the crease of his ass. "Tell me what you want," he sneered, resting his finger on the opening.

He watched as America pushed his ass upwards, whether it was on purpose or involuntary he didn't know. All he knew was the the sight of his perfect backside was making his erection ache in his trousers.

"Please... touch me..." The blonde whimpered, nuzzling how own arm as he tried to ignore how good it felt to have the Russian touch him so gently.

"Ah, in here?" He replied, sliding a finger in with ease. He watched as America shuddered; his head nodding. "You want more? What is it you want?" He was always told never to play with his food but he couldn't resist on this occasion. He was going to consume him eventually...but he wanted his fun first.

"God dammit, just fuck me!" America shouted, snapping his head around and glaring.

Russia smirked, leaving his one finger inside as he got up onto his knees. Placing one hand firmly onto the back of the American's head, he held him down, applying all his weight onto him as he inserted two more fingers.

Satisfaction washed over him as he felt the younger man tense up around him and whimper in pain, the intrusion clearly more than he could handle. He couldn't help but laugh inwardly at the American. He could barely take his fingers, which although larger than most, were no rival for his cock.

"You want me to fuck you? How depraved. I thought you didn't want this..." Russia chimed, smiling as he cruelly moved his fingers in and out quickly, flexing the digits inside the younger man just to hear him cry out.

He took his hand off America's head, allowing him to force the blonde's face around.

"You're nothing but a dirty boy... I am not sure where you got it from... maybe England... he seemed to like it when I did this to him..." He saw anger displayed on America's tear stained face for a moment. Before the younger man could say anything, he dipped his head downwards, capturing his lips in a kiss.

He wasn't sure why America responded so hungrily. Maybe it was out of spite; maybe it was the drink. He suspected it was because of how his finger's were fucking him, moving roughly, brushing against his prostate with precision. He wasn't that cold. He would always make sure the other country felt pleasure and with America, he was even more eager to please him.

"Give me more... I want you..." America mumbled, reaching under Russia's overcoat and pressing his palm against his arousal.

Russia wanted to play with him some more but the way America touched him so tenderly had him almost bursting at the seams. He could hold back any more. Removing his fingers, he shuffled to the top of the bed, sitting on the pillows.

"Hey...where you going?" America whined, scrambling around to glare at Russia, only to have his gaze lessen into something of pure lust. He watched, his eyes wide as the larger man parted his coat and unbuttoned his trousers. He could already see his erection straining against the material and he could only gasp as Russia allowed it to fall out from its confines.

"Come over here. I want you on top of me," Russia commanded, beckoning the younger man with one hand, the other going into his pocket and fishing out a small packet.

America could only watch, slightly mesmerised as the Russian bit open the condom and slowly rolled it on. He hated himself for thinking such a thought...but he wanted to taste the other man. He didn't make an attempt to stop him though, instead, he simply crawled over and placed his hands on the larger man's shoulders, pulling himself up.

"B-be gentle... please... I..I've never done this before," America whispered.

Russia felt his heart pang for a moment. "What about England? You two are very close, correct?"

America nodded. "He has never...done me," he admitted.

Russia didn't feel guilty as he lined up his cock against America's entrance, his other hand reassuringly stroking the younger man's hip. This was perfect. A wanton virgin. Sure, the Italy brothers had been begging for it but they had both been with other men. The tightness around the tip of his cock was amazing. He could almost feel America welcoming him in, despite the whimper the other man let out.

"This will feel good, trust me," he mumbled, using his free hand to reach under the pillow next to him.

He stared at America. His eyes were closed, his glasses teetering dangerously on the edge of his nose. Sweat dripped down his face. His lips quivering as he took a little more.

Gripping his hand on the American's hip, he quickly pushed him down, fully impaling him on his cock. At the same time, he pulled out his polaroid camera, snapping a picture of the blonde as his eyes shot open; a cry ringing out that would remain captured in the still image.

"W-what are you doing?" America screamed, covering his face, even though the picture had already been taken.

"Taking a picture. You're very sexy, do you know that?" Russia uttered, thrusting his hips up slightly.

"D-don't do that!" America stammered, still covering his face, refusing to move.

Russia didn't like being told what to do. Placing the camera by his side, he grabbed the younger man and pushed him forward, holding his legs in the air as he nestled between them. Smirking, he glared down. "Don't tell me what I can and can't do."

He grabbed the camera again. With one hand, he held it in front of his face, looking at the other man through the lens. Thrusting, he snapped picture after picture of America as he moaned, thrashing about on the bed as he was fucked. The pictures fluttered onto his naked body, still warm as they developed.

"S-stop!" The smaller man groaned, unable to even fight back as his body was assaulted with pleasure, Russia's erection pounding into him over and over, hitting the right spot; making him see stars as he gripped the bedsheets.

By now, Russia was deaf to America's words, only hearing him moaning in ecstasy as he fucked him. He didn't care about what the younger man had to say. He was only interested in completing his collection. The first picture he had taken had been the _one_ but his finger couldn't stop pushing the button.

America was a perfect specimen in his opinion. He needed to immortalise this moment with pictures. Each moment of pleasure. he angled the camera further downwards, snapping a picture of the other country's cock as is begged for release, his own sliding out crudely. One picture of it almost all the way out; another of it all the way in.

He could feel his own orgasm approaching but he couldn't stop taking pictures. He could sense America was close too. The way he moved, the camera clearly forgotten in his own mind now, told Russia that he was desperate for his release. Shameless; searching for his own climax.

"Do you want to come? You can, you know... I'm not going to stop," Russia slurred, thrusting into the American relentlessly.

"I-I want to see your body... Take your... clothes off," America panted, reaching his hands out to try and take the other man's clothes off. A futile move as the power of Russia's movements kept him down.

Russia grinned, running a finger along America's twitching cock. "You don't have a say in what you want right now... Are you aware of how amazing you feel? You're amazingly tight... and hot, so fucking hot..."

He wrapped his hand around the blonde's erection, slowly flicking his wrist. His camera was angled perfectly, waiting to capture the other man's orgasm perfectly.

America whimpered, gripping the bedsheets as he arched his body up. Although he had always thought Russia to be so cold, all he felt right now was the heat. The heat from the act; the heat from the other man; the heat from himself. It was overwhelming; almost suffocating.

The blinding sensation of his orgasm was fast approaching. Shutting his eyes tight, he allowed the pleasure to wash over him; allowed it to shake his entire body. His limbs trembled as he came. He couldn't stop himself from moving; his body involuntarily shaking over and over as he felt pure ecstasy course through his body.

He felt the Russian speed up his movements; his breathing faster now as he continued to pummel into him. He was close, America knew that. Still trying to come down from his own high, he forced his eyes open to watch the other man climax. He had never thought that he could feel anything for such a cold man but as he shuddered and let out his own release, he couldn't help but feel _something_, despite their situation or the circumstances these feelings came under.

"Ah..." Russia breathed out, discarding the camera and wiping his brow before he pulled out of the smaller man. "That was very good."

He quickly gathered up the numerous photos, smirking as he saw that his first picture; his prized picture, had the remnants of America's orgasm on it. Roughly pushing America aside, he took off his condom and stuffed himself back into his trousers before he jumped off the bed.

"W-what are you going to do with those?" America asked nervously, scrambling around for his clothes, trying desperately to cover himself despite the fact that Russia had already seen all he had. He tried to ignore the stinging in his backside as he moved but it hurt. He felt weak.

"Do not worry. I won't show anyone. This will be our little secret. A secret between Russia and America. You trust me like I trust you? If we have trust, there is no worry about these photos." Russia said, placing the photos on the night stand before he turned to face America with a smile on his face.

He bent down and picked up America's trousers, holding them out to the younger man.

"Should I stay...or something..." America asked, taking his trousers and meekly sliding into them, wincing as the pain seared through his body. He could only pull on his jacket to cover his naked torso. His shirt lay in pieces on the bed after Russia had taken a knife to it.

Russia's face twitched for a moment and America was certain he saw a glimmer of a genuine smile, but it was darker now. He couldn't be sure.

"Why would you do that?" Russia asked, turning back around to stare at the polaroids on the table. "You should go. I have what I want. I have it now forever." He mumbled, running his finger along the photos. They would always be like this in his memory. Photos didn't speak; didn't break your heart.

"I...don't know. There has to be a reason why you did that aside from you just being..." America allowed his words to trail off as he stood up.

"I wanted to become one with you. I have done that, now you can vacate my property. You have served your purpose."

America raised his hand, ready to touch the other man but the warmth he radiated a moment ago had gone. Now, the cold aura was back. Lowering his hand, he sighed. "Photos won't keep you warm at night, Russia."

By the time Russia could even think of a response and turn around, America had already left. No one had ever dared say such a thing afterwards.

It didn't matter though. He had the final photo. He could finish his collection.

He moved over to the bookcase, taking hold of his album before he retreated downstairs to where their meeting had begun. He took a seat again on the sofa, staring at the roaring fire for a moment. Slowly, he opened his album, glancing at each other country before he came to the final blank page.

America.

He took the photo on the top of his pile, euphoria bubbling inside as he saw the expression on America's face. For that one moment, the only thing the other person thought about was him. That moment was perfect; untainted by any other influence.

He carefully stuck it down, smoothing the edges out. He didn't want to risk losing the final picture.

At last though, it was complete. His masterpiece.

However, he still had the leftover ones. Picking them up, he flicked through the images. They were good; amazing even. Part of him wanted to create a special album dedicated to America... another part of him wanted to place them in an envelope and post them to England. There was no evidence that he had been involved.

However, he couldn't help but think about America's last comment before he left. _Photos won't keep you warm at night_. Said with such spite...or was it pity? He got to his feet, grabbing the bottle of vodka that had been left on the table, and wandered over to the fire.

Leaning on the fireplace, he stared into the flames. Maybe America was right. Photos were hardly a substitute for a real person. Photos wouldn't provide him with companionship. But at the same time, photos wouldn't ask questions...they wouldn't be afraid of him.

He took a swig of the vodka. Vodka kept him warm. Not thinking twice, he discarded the photos into the fire, crouching down as the flames grew larger; more ferocious. Laughing, he swallowed another mouthful of vodka. What was America saying? He was wrong. Photos were enough to keep him warm at night.

* * *

A/N: Ah, I fail but the important thing is that you managed to get to the end.


End file.
